Ragnar and Afanen listen intently at Mitoli explains what comes after Keep Yond. They both know that eventually they will have to find a more permanent solution to their departure from Oakvale. However, both of them have always yearned for travel, and working as caravan guards seems to give them the promise of both travel and a steady income. At the mention of the possibility of sea air, Afanen brightens. The coast is something she has only read about, and the prospect of seeing it in person seems an exciting option.
Mitoli’s discussion of what he’s seen during his travels is cut short, and they both nod knowingly as Boris appears nearby. The subtle gesture indicates both Ragnar and Afanen wish to hear anything else Mitoli might have to say on the matter.
Ragnar grins from ear to ear at Boris’s observation of their weapons. “Sturdy is an understatement! These are weapons forged by Blodwen of Oakvale, one of the greatest smiths alive today! You’d be hard-pressed to find finer quality than these.”
It is a name that even the tavern keeper will likely recognize. The name of the smith Blodwen is known far and wide, yet the fact that master smith is a woman is a closely-guarded Oakvale secret. There are those who would turn up their noses at the work of a female smith. Nevertheless, Afanen reddens considerably at Ragnar’s accolades
“You’ve nothing to worry of our weapons after a few mugs. If anything, you should fear Ragnar’s singing. He’s a lovely voice when he’s sober, but after a few drinks, he starts to sound like a sick horse in heat,” says Afanen with a wink.
Ragnar’s gaze drifts to the window and he nudges Afanen. It is beginning to grow dark and several townsfolk light the oil lamps on the street corners.
Ragnar downs his ale in two gulps, sliding his forearm across his lips as he pushes himself back from the table. “We have some business to tend to before bedding down for the night.”
Afanen downs hers in one, before winking at Ragnar. “You’re losing your touch, friend.”
“Show-off,” mutters Ragnar with a smirk. He puts a few coins on the table and a little extra coin for Boris for serving them.
“But perhaps when we get back we can speak more of oddities,” speaks Afanen. “And we must again give you our sincere thanks, Mitoli. Thank you for allowing us to travel with you.”
On their way out, Ragnar claps Jin on the back. “Have fun, lad. We’re out for a romantic evening stroll.” Ragnar grins, waggling his eyebrows at Afanen suggestively.
Afanen snorts. “Romantic! You really are full of it.” She laughs off his comment, and the keen observer will see a slight twinge affect the corners of Ragnar’s grin.
Afanen touches Jin’s shoulder. “Not too much fun, Jin.” The affection she has for the boy is apparent in her voice, and she narrows her eyes, warily, but not threateningly at Rand. It is clear she is quite protective of Jin. “If you need us, we won’t be far.”
Ragnar and Afanen make their way towards the door, stepping outside into the growing darkness. Both activate their heightened senses: Ragnar, his sight, and Afanen, her sense of smell.
“Ugh,” groans Afanen. “This better be worth it.”
Ragnar nods. “I’ve a notion it will be. There are still some people over by the Clover. Let’s wait until they leave and continue our little investigation shall we?”
Afanen nods. “I’ll repeat the experiment with the ash. With luck, maybe we can get a sense of where he or she went after torching the place.”
“And what do we do if we run into the arsonist? Anyone crazy enough to burn down buildings and attack caravans…”
Afanen shakes her head. “You forget, Ragnar.” She repeats her words from earlier. “There are two sides to every story. Let’s not be so quick to judge and condemn.”
The two intend to wait until Bjorn and Daccio are clear of the area before approaching the remnants of The Clover.
